


Changing Tides

by FairyLights101



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Bullying, Canon Compliant, Depression, Fluff, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Light Angst, M/M, Trans Akaashi Keiji, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Transphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 06:27:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7348888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FairyLights101/pseuds/FairyLights101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>And to think it all started out with a swimsuit.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Changing Tides

It started with a bathing suit. Well, it had started long before that, but it was the only clear point Akaashi could remember. But it started when he was seven. When he and his family had spent the weeks beneath Japan’s blazing hot summer sun and on the beaches, splashing through cool, crowded waters, walking at night with damp sand between their toes and ice creams in their hands, a girl, and a bathing suit. 

It had been a cute thing. Black with gold polka dots with frills around the waist and a hat to match. Anyone else would have been delighted. But all Akaashi had felt was dread, heavy and cloying in his stomach, as he’d picked it out of the box and held it up. But all he had said was “Thank you, Mom,” before he had dutifully trooped off to the bathroom to change. The sunburn had been bad that day. He’d cried long and hard until his parents had brought home ice cream and rubbed aloe onto his shoulders and watched his favorite movie -  _ Monsters Inc. _ of course. And the day had faded into a summer haze, blurred at the edges from youth and time. And he hadn’t remembered it until much, much later. 

The next time he’d been thirteen, when he and the other middle schoolers had sat in a lopsided circle around one of the opaque brown bottles they’d split amongst the group. It had tasted vile, but it had put a little warmth in his stomach. And, when someone had dared him to kiss one of the girls - he couldn’t remember who, just her vibrant red hair and the smatter of freckles across her cheeks - it had been easy to lean in and peck her on the cheek, even though his heart had been throbbing. But that hadn’t been what they’d wanted, so he’d had to lean in again, so close that he could smell the beer and mint on her breath, before he’d kissed her, this time on the mouth. His heart had never pounded so much, his cheeks had never burned so much. 

Someone had taken a picture. 

When they’d passed the phone around and shown him it had made his cheeks flush hot again. It had been far nicer to kiss her than it had been to kiss one of the boys in the group - he’d groped Akaashi, left him shaking and nearly in tears. 

It hadn’t been a very good night. He’d thrown up in the bathroom not long after. But after that he found his eyes on more than boys. He’d focused on girls too - the way they laughed and smiled, how soft their hands were, their rapidly developing bodies. 

By fourteen he’d given up trying not to look, even though guilt had gnawed at his stomach. It had been hard to miss the comments his parents made, the way society viewed people like him. It had been impossible to not realize that he wasn’t entirely  _ normal _ . But by the time he’d entered high school he’d given up altogether, had gone through the motions. Volleyball practice with the girls. Furtive glances at them and the boys who happened to catch his eye. A strange nausea that swamped him sometimes when he’d peeked into the mirror and touched his body. 

_ I should have seen the signs _ . But he’d been afraid of himself, at the fear he’d had at the way his body had been developing. The curves had made him bite his lip, the slow swell of breasts had left him feeling unsure. But he’d dismissed it, chalked it up to puberty and hormones. All of it.

And then he’d met Bokuto. 

The boys’ team had practiced in a separate gym from the girls. He’d seen Bokuto, sure - they’d passed each other in the halls more than once, but Bokuto was a year older, so of course they hadn’t shared classes or crossed paths much in that first month. But Akaashi had walked past the second gym on the way home one day and the loud cheer had stopped his feet, made him turn and cock his head, curious. 

The door had been ajar, just enough for him to peek in. His jaw had dropped. The boys had been in the middle of an intense practice match against themselves - close too. But his eyes had immediately gone to Bokuto where he’d stood on the far side of the court, tall and straight and at ease amongst his teammates in a way Akaashi could only dream of being. His grin had almost seemed to illuminate the entire gym, and his loud voice had carried as he’d called to each team member with a chipper tone. 

And then the door had opened wider, enough that Akaashi had nearly tumbled off the steps in shock. Between his apologies Yukie had managed to slide her words in - “You don’t have to stand there to watch. You’re on the girls’ team, aren’t you?” 

And he had nodded, stiff and unsure, his throat dry. The words had made his stomach roll, but he certainly hadn’t denied the opportunity to slip inside and watch. Bokuto’s spikes were something to behold, baffling and powerful. And two thoughts had come to Akaashi’s mind. The insane  _ need _ to toss to him, so demanding that his stomach had flipped and twisted was the first, overwhelming. Concealing. It had almost masked the second thought that had trailed on its heels like an eager dog.  _ I want to be like him _ . 

After that Akaashi had gone to more and more of their practices until finally during a break Bokuto had plopped down beside him, their backs to the wall, though Bokuto hadn’t pulled his legs into his chest like Akaashi had. Nope, he’d sprawled them out, spread them wide, and grinned at Akaashi as he’d offered a water. His greeting was loud, excited, and his energy had only doubled, maybe tripled, when Akaashi had said he was a setter. But when the whistle had blown and turned heads Bokuto had smiled at him once more, so bright that Akaashi’s stomach had twisted. “Come again, yeah? We can talk more then!” 

And he had. Every single day for two months he’d stayed until the boys had finished their practice. And all the while his stomach had twisted with something - not quite anticipation, and not quite jealousy, but more like  _ longing _ .  _ Guess I know why now _ . But it had taken two and a half months for him to work up the courage to turn to Bokuto one day as they’d sat there, Bokuto breathing hard from all the exercise. “Do you mind if I toss to you sometime?” 

Bokuto’s smile had been so brilliant that Akaashi was almost certain his heart would shudder to a stop. But it hadn’t, and he’d managed to dumbly nod in agreement as Bokuto had wrapped his arm around him and practically yelled “Of course! When do you wanna do it, Akaashi? I’m free on the weekends - Sundays especially! What about you? We could practice then, but I’m open for other times too!” 

“... Sunday works.” And Bokuto had cheered. Akaashi had smiled. 

The other players had laughed and oohed at Bokuto, had yelled “Way to snag a pretty girl, Bokuto!” 

Those words had made his stomach twist like nothing else, and he’d felt like crying. But Bokuto had squeezed his arm and leaned close, and for the first time since Akaashi had seen him Bokuto’s voice had been soft. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah. Perfect.” But he hadn’t been, but wrapping his head around the  _ why _ had been impossible. So he’d gone to toss with Bokuto the next Sunday. 

They’d biked to Fukurodani and unlocked the gym - perks of Bokuto being the vice-captain and ace. There in that gym things had been different -  _ easy _ . Bokuto hadn’t treated him like a girl. He’d treated him like a person, his expectations just like the ones Akaashi had seen in all those practices, his tweaks the same. And yet something had been different. The energy. The way Bokuto had called his name - not his first name, no, he had never called him by that, but his  _ last name _ . Cries that filled the gym, along with the squeak of shoes and the thud of volleyballs. He accented the syllables differently every single time, even years later, and it had made Akaashi smile as they’d slowly settled into a rhythm. It had been so easy, so  _ effortless _ . 

And all he had wanted later was to go back to that in the following days when one of his teammates had slammed him against a locker, her face twisted with rage. “What are you doing with Bokuto?” It had taken nearly ten minutes to calm her down, to insist that no, he didn’t like Bokuto - a lie, such a fucking lie. He’d been shaking for the rest of the day. 

He’d skipped Bokuto’s practice that night. 

And the next. 

And for the next week he had stayed away. He’d kept to himself during practice and had gone straight home. He’d ignored his parents casually tossed slurs at the TV and gone to his room, curled up on his bed, hidden beneath the covers and scoured the internet. Sought for something to explain. And the words had swam to his mind, bitter and sweet and terrifyingly  _ right _ . Non-binary. Genderfluid.  _ Transgender _ . He’d cried that night - relief that time. He’d almost broken down and cried again the next day when Bokuto had come up to him before class, brow furrowed and eyes sad. 

“Akaashi, why haven’t you been coming to practice?” 

“I’ve… been busy.” 

And it hadn’t been a lie - there had been tests, practices, homework, family. Excuses, excuses, excuses. 

“Can you come tonight?” 

“No, sorry.” 

Even if he hadn’t shown it, the wrath of the girls had been intimidating, terrifying. And because he wanted to research it more, wanted to scour the internet for ‘ _ transgender _ ’ so he could wrap his head around it and understand why it felt so  _ right _ . Bokuto’s eyes had fallen even more and he had nodded weakly before he’d walked back out. Eyes had tracked him, then snapped to Akaashi. Akaashi had buried his face into his book, had tried to ignore. He’d gone home that night, bit back his tears and had thrown himself into it. 

By the end of the week things had hesitantly clicked. By the end of the week he had been terrified of what his parents, his teammates would say if it ever accidentally slipped. But he hadn’t been able to shake the feeling of  _ not right _ whenever he prodded his chest in his bathroom mirror or heard them call him by  _ that _ name or talk about how he was a pretty little girl. So he’d given up on caring about that too. He’d wrapped it up tight, nursed it inside as he’d dragged himself to school. To practice. Home. 

And then Yukie had come up to him nearly a month after he’d stopped coming to the boys’ practices, her face tight and her lip gnawed red. He hadn’t wanted to respond, but she’d said his name so softly, so carefully, so unlike herself that he had, voice dull. 

“Did Bokuto do something to you? Or did someone say something? Because… he’s been really down since you left. I think you made his playing better, but now it honestly sucks. Even the normal tactics to cheer him up don’t work.” Akaashi had glanced up, confused, and Yukie has smiled softly. “If the other girls are being mean, don’t worry about them. They’re just jealous. Come back. There’s always a place for you there.” 

And so he had. And so the months had melded past. Summer break was a haze. The fall had been a blur, and winter break a crash of white. Spring had been a whirlwind, and then his second year of high school had slammed into him full-force - accompanied by a crippling thing he’d come to realize was dysphoria, on the heels of depression that had been sneaking in for months and months and steadily growing. 

It had started when he had started to ‘bind’ with his sports bras and it had escalated when he had scoured the internet for another name -  _ Keiji _ . It had grown, teasing and thick and poisonous, until it weighed heavy on his mind. And even silly, oblivious Bokuto had noticed, his golden eyes shockingly sharp when they wanted to be. But it had been easy to sway his attention with a soft smile and a promise to toss, and the matters were forgotten for another day, another time. 

The days had trickled past. 

Akaashi got depressed - severely. His teammates ignored him for the most part until one day one cornered him, accused him of being a lesbian. He denied them - they were wrong, because he wasn’t a  _ girl _ . And they’d backed off, and so he’d gone to Bokuto, whispered about the conflict quietly. Bokuto had nearly crushed his water bottle, but at Akaashi’s insistence he’d calmed down, sagged back into the wall. 

His fingers had slipped over, laid overtop of Akaashi’s. His hand had been warm, impossibly so - it still was. And Akaashi had smiled a little as he’d tucked his chin into his knees and hid it away. It hadn’t taken Bokuto much longer to ask him out, shy and scared, the deep violet and gold irises a little wilted, a little bent. He’d answered yes with a kiss to Bokuto’s stubbly chin, his heart pounding and his lungs barely working. But, even then, the way Bokuto had breathed “Akaashi” had made his stomach bubble so much more than his first name ever could’ve. And then it had soured. 

_ I want to hear Keiji _ . 

But he’d forced a smile and had carried on, easy. And Bokuto hadn’t noticed a thing. Not until one night three months later, the day after Bokuto had returned from a practice match and immediately invited Akaashi over to spend the day. 

The door had been shut - something that never could have happened in Akaashi’s home - and he’d straddled Bokuto, tangled his fingers tight in that white and black hair. Bokuto’s hands had felt so much larger then because they were still new, still foreign to feel. They’d made him forget - they still did. 

And he hadn't realized what they’d been doing until Bokuto had stopped kissing him hungrily and had pulled back. Akaashi could never forget the look on his face, or the way he’d looked down to Akaashi’s exposed thighs, his hands tight on Akaashi’s hips. Those golden eyes had been impossibly wide, and Akaashi had never seen him look so distressed, so  _ afraid _ . 

“Akaashi…” 

He’d shivered, eyes burning, and had pointedly looked away, even when Bokuto’s fingers had drawn shaky paths across the tops of his thighs. “This… did you…?” And when Akaashi hadn’t responded, had resolutely turned his head away and bitten his cheek to choke on the tears, Bokuto’s hands had risen and his arms had wrapped tight around Akaashi, holding him tight. 

“I’m so sorry this happened… that the world made you hate it… Akaashi, you don’t have to talk. ‘Kaash, don’t cry, Ei-” 

“Don’t call me that!” he’d gasped, and Bokuto’s hands had spasmed, then tightened. 

“Alright, alright. ‘Kaash, I won’t. Just… Oh God, I love you Akaashi… I l-love you and I don’t want you to hurt!” That had been the first time Bokuto had ever said that. They’d both been in tears by then, but Akaashi hadn’t given a damn. He’d been tired of choking on his feelings, on pushing everything down. It had been terrifyingly easy to succumb to Bokuto’s embrace, to allow his boyfriend to drag him down and curl around him on his bed as he wiped tears off of Akaashi’s face and kissed him. 

It had taken two weeks for Akaashi to finally spill everything. About the girls, his homophobic parents, how he was a transgender male, not a girl. And Bokuto had taken it all in a stride, his voice soft and his hands softer. He’d coaxed Akaashi into his embrace, warm, and told him that he loved him, and the words had made Akaashi’s chest ache. He could still hear what he’d said - “I don’t know much about it, nothing more than the basics, but I’ll do my best to learn Akaashi - Keiji. I promise.” 

And he’d never felt warmer. 

Not until that December when Bokuto had asked him to measure himself and Akaashi, compliant, had done so, and then Bokuto had dragged him out of the house on his birthday with the world drowning in snow and cold and ice on their lips, and he’d dragged him over to Bokuto’s house and into the living room. His parents had been there too - Akaashi had discovered months prior that they were okay with  _ him _ , that he could be himself. And things had been easy around them. But Bokuto had sat him down in the living room and shoved boxes of gaudily and badly wrapped presents his way as he’d cheered “Happy Birthday Keiji Akaashi!” The first one hadn’t been anything he hadn’t expected - two books, two DVDs. The next one had been. 

Shirts.  _ Men’s _ shirts. 

Nice ones too - long sleeved and short sleeved, button up and pullovers. His eyes had been watering by then, but they’d really come forth when he’d opened the last one. Two binders. A black tank top -like one and a skin-tone half one. He’d thrown himself at Bokuto so hard they’d nearly tipped the Christmas tree over. And Bokuto’s parents had grinned at them and kissed his cheeks and held him tight, their embraces just as warm as Bokuto’s always were. 

He hadn’t been able to thank them enough. He still wasn’t sure if he’d been able to. But after that the weeks and months had slipped past a little easier. Bokuto was a text away, and he had taken full advantage of that, as had Bokuto whenever his moods had abruptly plunged. It had been good. 

And then his mother had been in his room and had found it. The binder. Had thrown it in his face as he’d sat at the table, his books scattered around him. It had taken under an hour for him to gather his things and bolt to Bokuto’s place. 

It had rained that day. Hard. 

He’d been drenched to the bone and shaking when he’d turned up. Bokuto had nearly gone to his house and beaten his parents up, but it had only taken one touch to keep him there, to make those arms wrap around him once more. He’d cried until his eyes were empty, until he could barely stand he was so dizzy and weak and exhausted. But it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen it coming. 

There had been a custody battle, not lengthy, but enough to overlap Bokuto’s graduation. In that time Akaashi had cut his hair off and joined the boys team for the last few months of practice. They’d welcomed him easily. It had been nice considering. The Bokuto’s had gotten custody. He’d gotten to register at school the next year as Keiji Akaashi, male. 

The year after graduation he’d started testosterone, and two years after he’d gotten top surgery. And five years after he was curled up in their bed, his head nestled beneath Koutarou’s chin, Koutarou’s hand on his hip. 

Keiji nuzzled closer with a quiet sigh as he traced Koutarou’s back with a quiet hum. He felt skin twitch, lips turn up into a smile. “What’re you thinking about, Keiji?” 

He shrugged his shoulders and hummed, but Koutarou didn’t prod. He merely waited until Keiji’s fingers stilled on his shoulder blade. “I was thinking about me. About us. About how this all started.” 

“It was quite the journey,” Koutarou chuckled into his hair. He shifted, hitched a leg over Keiji, and the smaller man grunted his dissent, not that he really meant it. Not that Koutarou would have listened either way. He closed his eyes, pressed even closer in the darkness of their room. He blindly sought out Koutarou’s hand and their fingers locked together, their grasp firm. 

“I love you, Kou.”

“I cherish you, Keiji Akaashi.” 

“Idiot.” 

“Your idiot.” 

But he certainly didn’t mind the kisses his idiot peppered across his cheeks, warm and soft and excited despite the fact that it was nearly one in the morning and they had work at eight and their bodies were still sticky and gross.  _ And to think it all started out with a swimsuit. _

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr as fairylights101 and fairylights101writes  
> Check out my two ongoing Attack on Titan Works, "Lebenswille" and "To Love An Alpha"  
> Look out for my future Haikyuu!! works "Summer Lovin'" (Kenhina), "Where It Rains" (Iwaoi), and other short fics.
> 
> Thanks for reading and have a wonderful day/night/existence!  
> Comments are great. You should leave some.


End file.
